by A. R. Moler
“You should’ve told me you hurt,” Mason gently chided his lover as he sent a warm flood of energy cascading through his hand.
“Unh, not important,” whispered Cam, beginning to kiss Mason.
~
Six people walked from the federal building into the attached parking garage. Cam fingered the evidence bag containing the lock from a money transport bag where it was tucked into his pocket. The FBI had shown him shell casings, an ink pen dropped by one of the men in the robbery, a dubious shoe print, photos of the scene and bags and locks that had been chopped off with bolt cutters.
“Do you want me to find the people or the money?” he had asked. The decision had been made that the money took priority. Cam thought that fell in the category of kind of weird. Didn’t finding the “bad guys” generally trump just money? It wasn’t like the missile he had located for the Navy. Money was just money, wasn’t it? So Cam made the usual disclaimers that what he did was not an exact science and results were not guaranteed. So now he stood in the garage with Mason, Madison Carthage, Agent Buchner, and two more FBI men, whose names he had already forgotten.
“You do realize this is going to be slow and excruciatingly boring?” Cam said to Ms. Carthage. “It would probably be less frustrating for you and all your people to let me wander around for an hour or so and figure out what direction I’m going.”
“What exactly does wandering around entail?” Ms. Carthage asked.
“Pretty much, just that. I usually have to sort of get my bearings before I know which way to go. I’d prefer to do it on foot.”
“Very well. Do you want to start from here or from the scene?”
“Unless you have some overwhelming reason to believe the money is closer to the original crime scene, here’s just fine.”
~
A light drizzle was developing as Mason walked along beside Cam. They were just ambling along a city street. Cam had his earbuds in and his mp3 player tucked in his pocket. The infamous Ms. Carthage was trailing along, heels clacking on the sidewalk. Periodically she would try to draw Mason into conversation, asking him about his orthopedic practice, the area where he lived and Division P. He kept his answers as brief as he could manage. God, the woman was irritating. He supposed he should be flattered that she was so hot for him. She was obviously operating under the premise that she just hadn’t found the right way to tempt him yet.
Mason suddenly lunged forward and grabbed Cam before he walked face first into a bus stop.
“Hey! Careful!” Mason shouted. Cam gave him a startled look then laughed a little.
“This is why driving when I do this is usually such a bad idea.”
“Making any progress?” asked Mason.
“Yeah, actually I just got a pull.”
“Should I request the rest of the team to meet us here?” asked Madison.
“Not yet. Give me another half mile or so.”
~
Stor-It-Here was one of those self-storage places that had sprung up like mushrooms. Cam had indicated that Agent Buchner should stop along the high fence that bordered the place. Mason was in the back seat with Ms. Carthage. Cam glanced back at them. Carthage gazed at Mason with a look that made Cam think she would consider jumping him if they were alone.
They were on the edge of the city, some seventeen miles or so from where the robbery had taken place.
“Is this it?” asked Carthage.
“I’m about eighty percent sure. Things are harder to track than people,” replied Cam.
“Okay, I need to make a phone call to verify a warrant, then we’ll have a look,” she said, climbing out of the car. Cam got out and leaned on the front fender to wait. Mason walked around to stand in front of him.
“Do you think if I stuck my tongue down your throat she’d back off?” whispered Mason.
Cam smiled a little. “Guess you don’t swish enough to give her any clue you’re not het,” replied Cam. He was hard pressed not to laugh. Mason rolled his eyes.
It took about ten minutes for the FBI to gain permission to enter the storage facility. Cam began walking the road that led between rows of locked doors. He stopped in front of one numbered 3866.
“This one,” he said. It felt right. It had the magnetic-style draw that he followed. Agent Buchner retrieved an enormous pair of bolt cutters from the car. It took a couple of tries to get the right angle for him to cut the lock off. Inside the storage area was some old furniture stacked along the wall, a large number of cardboard boxes and some plastic ones also.
“Search everything,” ordered Madison. She walked back toward the corner where two roadways through the complex intersected, dialing her cell. Cam shrugged at Mason and they went to stand by the doors on the opposite side of the road.
“Think you hit pay dirt?” asked Mason.
“Yeah, I think so.” They were both watching the three agents systematically begin to search the contents.
“I left my cup of coffee in the car. This looks like it could take a while, I’ll be back in a couple of minutes” said Mason. Cam nodded. Sheer curiosity kept him close to the open storage space, and he lingered as close to the door as he could without being in the way.
“Hey, I...” called Buchner to one of the other agents as he began to open a cardboard box. The rest of his words were ripped away by the roar of an explosion.
~
Mason had traveled only thirty feet or so from the opened storage bay, when the “whump” and concussive shudder of the blast startled Mason so much he stumbled. He managed not to fall flat, thoughts spinning wildly as his brain tried to process the sound. Bomb. Explosion. Cam! He whirled back toward the direction he had come from, and began to run.
He saw Cam lying against the door frame of the open room. His gut clenched so hard he thought he was going to vomit. Then Cam moved, slowly rolling to his knees, one hand braced on the ground, the other holding the side of his head. Charred and smoldering pieces of paper littered the ground. Money. Burning money.
Mason fell to his knees beside Cam and wrapped an arm around him, easing him back into a seated position.
“Easy, I’ve got you,” Mason said, his voice sounding far calmer than he felt.
“Shit! I’m okay! I just got knocked down!” snapped Cam, the words followed by a groan. “Help the other guys.”
Mason threw open all his senses and cupped Cam’s face in his hands. He let his mind rifle through Cam’s nervous system with a brutal efficiency that left his lover grimacing further. Pain. Ear, head, shoulder, knee. No critical injuries.
“Go!” yelled Cam. Mason swallowed hard and forced himself back to his feet, going into the storage bay. Agent Buchner had been flung face down in a heap. His clothes were singed and one hand was completely missing, blood spurting with each beat of his pulse into an ever widening puddle.
Madison Carthage teetered to a stop a couple of feet from Mason, out of breath and eyes wide.
“Oh, fucking hell...” she whispered.
Mason was rolling the injured man over. He clenched one hand around the severed wrist trying to exert as much instant pressure as he could while he began to yank off the man’s tie.
“Call 911! Tell them we have a traumatic amputation! Go get my backpack from the car. It’s a medical field kit! NOW!” ordered Mason.
The woman stumbled away.
Mason let all his senses blow wide open. He had mere minutes to get the bleeding slowed enough to keep the man alive. His grip around the wrist was slowing the gush somewhat. Tie in his hand now, he improvised a tourniquet, wrenching the narrow fabric as tight as possible. The flow of blood was slowing to a pulsing trickle.
Mason was dimly aware of the other two men groaning and slowly trying to gather themselves up. Like Cam, they had been nowhere as close to the blast as Buchner. Mason ripped the agent’s shirt open and laid one hand on his chest, the other went on the man’s arm as Mason forced the blood vessels to constrict and further slow the blood loss. Buchner was sti
ll breathing.
Mason began scanning down through the rest of the agent’s body. Head trauma -- that seemed to be result of the blast combined with the impact on the floor. Some lung damage -- again probably due to a combination of the blast and hot gases of whatever explosive was used. There were hints of abdominal bleeding from the liver and spleen. All over bits of debris were embedded in the agent’s body. Mason poured a vast amount of energy in the broken body, trying to buy time until the EMS people could arrive.
Ms. Carthage dumped the heavy backpack on the floor beside Mason, saying, “Fire, rescue and local PD are on their way.”
“Good,” said Mason. One hand still on Buchner’s chest, he fumbled the bag open and began digging for a proper battle-field tourniquet. “Now look for his hand and get a bag of ice to put it in,” he ordered. Re-attachment was a dicey proposition, but there was sometimes a chance it might work. Carthage gave him wide-eyed sick look.
~
The agonizing ice-pick-in-the-ear-canal pain combined with a raging headache left Cameron Bradshaw moving very slowly. Nothing was broken so far as he could tell, and except for a few shallow cuts from flying debris, he didn’t seem to be bleeding much. His steps were unsteady as he headed toward where Mason knelt on the floor beside Agent Buchner, who was lying in a huge pool of blood. The doctor was inserting an IV port into the injured man’s undamaged wrist. Madison stood several feet away yelling into her cell phone something about ice. Cam dropped beside the open field kit.
“Tell me what to do,” he said.
“Find me a bag of saline,” snapped Mason. He was checking the man’s pupils. Cam hunted through the pockets of the kit and pulled out the fat bag of saline. It was only then that he realized Buchner’s opposite hand was... gone. Oh, shit. He gulped hard and held the bag out to Mason. The sounds of sirens drew his attention. EMS was heading their way. Thank God.
Cam gave himself a moment to look at Mason. The doctor’s motions were all smooth and methodical, but he was filmed in sweat. He had taken off his coat and laid it over the lower part of Buchner’s torso. Sweat darkened large spots on his shirt and his face was flushed with the huge amount of energy he was pouring out. Cam’s mind scrambled. Memories of a previous crisis situation welled up. There was going to be hell to pay when this was done. Cam dug through the bag until he found a handful of the little foil pouches labeled glucose gel.
The paramedics arrived and there was a flurry of activity as they began to take over. Cam grabbed Mason’s shoulders and forcibly pulled him back out of the way. The doctor struggled to return to his position.
“Quit it! You’re done! Let them do their job!” Cam yelled at him. His lover’s body was fever hot beneath the damp fabric of his shirt. Cam held him tightly. “Mason! Break the connection.” He had Mason in a virtual head lock trying to keep him back. Mason suddenly stilled, half-lunged forward, then stilled again.
“Let. Go. Of. Him.” said Cam in terse measured words. Mason finally relaxed in his grip. Cam pulled him back to sit on the ground between his legs and tore open one of the glucose packets. “Open up.” Mason hesitated as if the instruction made no sense, then finally opened his mouth. Cam squeezed the goop into Mason mouth and jammed a thumb under his chin to coerce him into swallowing it. He could see the color already starting to drain from the doctor’s skin as his healing talent began to shut down. A hard shiver ran through his lover’s body and Cam brushed his hands down Mason’s arms. His body temperature was plummeting and the chill October air wasn’t helping. Cam slapped another pouch of glucose gel in Mason’s hand. “This one too,” he ordered and started taking off his jacket. He could see his partner’s fingers trembling as he consumed the next dose. Cam draped his jacket around Mason's shoulders.
“How much do you need?” asked Cam.
“Don’ know. Gotta give it a couple min’uhs,” Mason slurred. Cam wrapped both arms around his lover and pulled him back tight against his body.
“Every time you do this, it scares the fucking hell out of me,” whispered Cam.
“An’ I’m sup’os a be okay with you getting’ almost blown up?’ Mason mumbled. Mason's fingers curled around Cam’s and he could feel a faint tingle of Mason’s energy crawling along his skin.
“Don’t! You’re barely staying conscious as it is! Fix me later!” snarled Cam.
Mason took a slow deep breath. “You have a concussion and a ruptured ear drum and enough bruises that tomorrow you’re hardly going to able to move!” snapped Mason. Something about the way his teeth were half-clenched made Cam realize just how hard his lover was concentrating not to slur his words or chatter his teeth.
“None of which is going to kill me!” A shadow fell across them. Cam looked up to see Madison Carthage.
“Maybe the two of you can stop with the testosterone poisoning long enough to tell me whether you need to go to the hospital or just need a ride back to the hotel while we sort out the rest of this cluster fuck,” she said.
“The hotel would be fine,” said Cam, slowly climbing to his feet.
“Go back to the car. I’ll get somebody to drive you there. Tomorrow sometime, there’ll be a full debriefing. Right now I’ve just got too much on my plate,” she said. Cam held out a hand to pull Mason to his feet.
“Can I get someone to call me and let me know if Buchner’s going to make it?” asked Mason.
She nodded.
~
“Take a shower. I’ll order room service,” said Cam as they walked into the hotel room.
Mason really wanted to lie face down on the bed and fall instantly asleep, but one look at the amount of blood that stained his clothes and skin made him realize just how stupid an idea that was.
“Got any preferences?” asked Cam.
“Meat, carbs, and the biggest OJ they have,” said Mason, as he struggled to shed his clothes.
Staying upright and awake in the shower was a challenge. Mason resorted to turning the water temperature down to lukewarm. He had to re-bandage the abrasions on his arm. Life would be easier if he had the time and energy to sit down and just heal them. He walked out into the room, a towel wrapped around his waist. Cam was slowly stripping himself. Mason could see the blossoming bruises on Cam's shoulder and ribs where he had impacted with the concrete wall. Mason stretched out a hand and Cam grimaced and dodged away.
“I am not letting you touch me until you’ve eaten. I know that glucose stuff is only going to last a little while,” said his lover.
Mason sighed and sank onto the bed. “I can tell you’re in a hell of a lot of pain even without touching you,” said Mason. The words came out more harshly than he intended.
Cam opened his mouth as if to yell something back at him, but was interrupted by a knock on the door. Cam opened the door for room service and handed the attendant some folded bills as he shut the door. The cart was heavily laden with food.
“Christ, how much food did you order?” asked Mason.
Cam smirked a little. “Probably too much, but I figured you might get hungry again in a couple hours. Sometimes you raid the fridge in the middle of the night.” He handed Mason a tall glass of juice.
They ate in virtual silence for the next fifteen to twenty minutes, before Mason began to actually feel more human. However, bitter exhaustion was still creeping around the edges.
“If I hadn’t pulled you away from Buchner... what would have happened?” said Cam softly.